Three pairs of heavy black shoes echo against the polished steel floor. In its center is a solid blue line about two meters wide that stretches ahead of them.
“Subject C-04 and Subject C-05 remain compliant and stable.”
One of the analyst’s voices carries evenly through the corridor as the small group proceeds down the sterilized hall with clipboards secured tightly against the fronts of their white lab coats. Their polished shoes echo rhythmically against the steel flooring beneath them while fluorescent overhead lights reflect sharply across the metallic walls. The facility hums with the constant pulse of hidden machinery behind every surface, creating a low electrical vibration that can be felt more than heard.
Just up ahead, the solid blue line comes to an abrupt end before a pair of heavy steel doors. Painted in muted whites and grays to match the sterile environment, the massive structure stretches across the corridor from one side to the other. Above the doors, mounted high against the wall, a single four-letter word is printed in bold black lettering that sharply contrasts the clinical surroundings.
EDEN.
“Subject C-02 continues to respond positively to reinforced behavioral repetition,” another analyst adds while reviewing the streams of data displayed across the translucent tablet in his hands. “No further signs of cognitive resistance have been documented.”
The third analyst remains silent as they approach the heavily reinforced mechanical doors stationed at the end of the corridor. Thick steel plating frames the entrance while biometric scanners illuminate one after another, tracing across each of their faces with cold blue light. For several seconds, the only sound present is the muted whirring of internal mechanisms unlocking layer by layer deep within the door itself.
“Let’s see how this one will behave today,” says the first analyst.
Then, with a prolonged mechanical hiss, the heavy steel doors slide apart.
Warm artificial light immediately spills outward from the room beyond, washing across the sterile corridor in golden hues that imitate natural sunlight with disturbing accuracy. The analysts step inside together as the doors seal shut behind them with another hydraulic groan.
Rows of monitors illuminate the expansive control room in flickering streams of green, white, and amber while machinery beeps monotonously beneath the steady hum of the facility’s operating systems. Technicians move between terminals with rehearsed precision as surveillance feeds display countless camera angles throughout the underground complex. At the center of the room, massive reinforced observation glass overlooks the Eden enclosure several floors below.
Beyond the glass, paradise has been manufactured underground.
The artificial sun suspended high above the enclosure has not shifted position in over six hours, yet the fabricated world beneath it remains frozen in perpetual golden morning. Warm light spills endlessly across winding stone pathways, crystal-clear ponds, and rows of immaculate white flowers rooted in engineered soil beds. Hidden misting systems release soft veils of moisture through the foliage at programmed intervals while concealed speakers thread birdsong throughout the habitat in carefully designed patterns meant to imitate life itself.
Every detail within Eden is calculated; nothing is left to nature itself.
Every tree is placed with intention. Every breeze is generated through concealed circulation vents embedded within the enclosure walls. Even the scent of damp earth and blooming flowers is chemically replicated to create the illusion of something untouched by human hands.
A man clad in sterile white clothing stands in stark contrast to the greenery of the artificial garden. A white vest drapes loosely across his back, the cryptic marking upon it serving as his only identification: C-07.
Subject C-07 sits beneath one of the fruit trees near the center of the enclosure with his head tilted slightly upward toward the canopy overhead.
His posture remains still enough to resemble a sculpture placed deliberately within the environment itself.
Above him, condensation gathers slowly along the edges of artificial leaves before dripping downward in steady intervals. One droplet slips free and lands softly against the back of his hand. Immediately, his iridescent eyes lower toward it, following the thin trail of water as it disappears slowly against his skin.
The monitors nearest the observation deck begin flashing subtle warning indicators.
One of the researchers wearing a lanyard leans closer toward the behavioral cycle display before narrowing his eyes slightly. “His interval has exceeded designated parameters again.”
The digital timer continues climbing upward beside Subject C-07’s identification profile.
00:00:13 overdue.
A quiet unease settles across the control room.
“He’s stalling,” one handler murmurs beneath his breath.
Far below them, C-07 remains seated in the grass without acknowledgment of the observation deck looming above him. His attention lingers entirely upon the trembling leaf overhead as artificial wind brushes softly through the branches surrounding him. The false sunlight illuminates the sharp lines of his face while the carefully programmed birdsong echoes gently throughout Eden’s enclosure.
“End recreational interval,” a voice instructs through the overhead speakers. The command reverberates calmly through the habitat.
C-07 does not move.
Several analysts exchange glances immediately.
The command repeats a second time, slightly sharper than before.
At last, his head shifts faintly toward the sound, though not fully. His attention drifts between the speakers and the movement of the leaves overhead, as though something within the enclosure has begun pulling at his focus more strongly than the conditioning itself.
The water feels real. That realization, however primitive and unformed, lingers somewhere deep behind his eyes.
“Administer auditory reinforcement,” a senior handler orders. One them moves their fingers over knobs.
Without hesitation, a sharp high-frequency tone pierces violently through Eden.
C-07 flinches instantly.
The response tears through him with practiced efficiency as years of conditioning react faster than conscious thought ever could. His shoulders tighten sharply while his fingers curl against the grass beneath him. Every muscle in his body stiffens beneath the invisible force of obedience carved meticulously into his nervous system over countless cycles of reinforcement.
Slowly, he rises to his feet.
His movements carry the mechanical precision of repetition as he lowers his gaze toward the stone pathway leading back toward containment. Yet before taking his first step, he hesitates once more and lifts his eyes upward toward the false sky stretching endlessly above Eden.
He does not look toward the speakers.
He looks toward the light.
For a brief moment, something unfamiliar surfaces within his expression, subtle enough that several analysts nearly miss it entirely.
It is not aggression nor confusion.
It resembles wonder.
Then the lights flicker overhead.
Once.
A sharp silence sweeps briefly across the control room as several technicians instinctively look upward. The artificial birdsong skips awkwardly mid-note before resuming seconds later while warning indicators flash momentarily across multiple terminals.
“Backup grid fluctuation,” one technician reports quickly from across the room while typing rapidly at his console. “Storm interference detected aboveground.”
A distant vibration rolls faintly through the facility several seconds later, deep enough to tremble subtly beneath their feet. Below the observation glass, ripples disturb the still surface of Eden’s ponds as thunder echoes somewhere far above the underground complex.
C-07 stands motionless within the enclosure now.
Listening.
Beyond layers of reinforced steel, concrete, and manufactured paradise, real rain begins to fall.
C-07’s right ear twitches, catching the sound before it becomes loud enough for the analysts observing above him. The distant patter of rainfall reverberates faintly through the enclosure, resembling hushed air moving through a ventilation system. The sound seems to draw him into a quiet daze, though he remains standing perfectly still beneath the artificial canopy.
The senior researcher who ordered the auditory reinforcement glances across the inhabitation before raising a hand, curling two fingers forward in silent command.
As though responding to the gesture itself, the glass doors reinforced with iron bars slide open with a mechanical hiss. A masked handler steps inside to retrieve him, the sharp echo of his shoes striking against the stone pathway before stopping directly in front of the tall, watchful man.
“Return to containment immediately,” the handler orders, his voice muffled beneath the mask. The command is simple, firm with practiced authority.
Everyone observing him watches the delay.
Several analysts lower their heads to input notes onto translucent tablets while others remain motionless behind the glass. The researchers hold their breaths in quiet anticipation, their attention fixed solely upon Subject C-07.
The masked escort reaches into his belt and retrieves a small device before pressing against its surface. No audible sound follows to ordinary ears, yet Subject C-07 slowly turns his head toward him at once. The muscles in his neck tense visibly as emotionless eyes settle upon the handler now removing a pair of metal restraints from his side.
The cuffs are thick enough to encase the full width of his wrists, reinforced with secondary containment mechanisms should anything go wrong.
Clink.
Less than half an hour later, the rainfall above ground develops into a severe thunderstorm. Thunder rolls across the skies with growing force, louder now, powerful enough to reverberate faintly through the structure beneath the earth.
All of the subjects have returned to their rightful chambers, resting upon molded padding beneath holographic flecks of light designed to imitate a night sky. Beyond the narrow windows beside their concealed doors, translucent numbers pulse steadily against the darkness, calculating heart rates and brain activity with unwavering precision.
Until a violent crack of thunder reverberates through the entire facility.
Everything abruptly goes black. Silent.
No humming ventilation. No mechanical resonance flowing through the walls. No artificial lights glowing beneath the floors. For the first time since Eden’s creation, the facility falls into complete darkness.
Above the containment level, confused voices begin overlapping one another inside the control room as emergency systems fail to respond. Translucent monitors flicker violently before dying altogether, leaving only the distant howl of the storm above ground.
Then the backup alarms begin.
The containment corridors are bathed in slow, rotating pulses of red emergency light, each sweep cutting through the darkness in rhythmic intervals.
Corridors A through C remain almost entirely unpowered, the crimson glow spilling across each subject’s respective containment door like warning marks carved into the void.
A moment later, a deep mechanical siren erupts through the facility, its intermittent cadence syncing with the failing emergency system. The sound tears through the silence with enough force to stir the resting subjects within their chambers.
And inside Containment C-07, a pair of eyes slowly open in the dark.
For the first time, he meets true darkness.
◇◇◇
The containment corridor remains submerged beneath unstable pulses of red emergency light. Each sweep of illumination moves slowly through the darkness, exposing fragments of steel, glass, and sealed doors before swallowing them again. The siren continues its uneven wail through the facility, but even it feels distant now, as though the structure is listening instead of responding.
Inside Containment C-07, Subject C-07 stands motionless. The faint red lights barely reach into his cell to illuminate his features.
The darkness is absolute. It presses in with unfamiliar weight without measurement nor regulation like the conditioning through controlled systems. It spreads without boundaries, filling every gap where artificial light once existed. The chamber no longer behaves like a controlled environment. It feels like the essence of absence has taken form. The familiar constants are gone: no ambient hum, no calculated illumination, no numerical presence beyond the door. Only void.
His posture shifts, subtly at first. A hesitation in stillness that does not belong to conditioning. It feels foreign.
Something stirs beneath the surface of his cognition—fractured impressions, dislocated fragments that resist integration. They surface without sequence, without instruction, as if something long suppressed is beginning to surface through cracks in containment.
A name forms within it.
“Caleb.”
It arrives without sound, yet it lands with force.
His head turns slightly, as though responding to something just beyond perception. The darkness around him seems to tighten, concentrating rather than dispersing. His breath becomes uneven. A break in regulation spreads through his system, small but undeniable.
The name returns again.
Closer. Heavier.
“Caleb.”
And with it, something else rises—pressure behind thought, a sensation of displacement. The certainty of identity begins to loosen, not collapsing at once, but unraveling thread by thread under its own weight.
He takes a slow, uncertain step.
The chamber does not respond. No recalibration. No correction. No environmental adjustment. Only the steady persistence of absence, pressing inward as if observing him.
◇◇◇
Moments later, down in the lower containment level, emergency protocols continue to cycle through degraded systems. Red beacons rotate across the corridor in slow mechanical intervals, casting fractured light over reinforced walls and sealed observation ports.
A retrieval team advances through the passageway.
Their movements are controlled, methodical. Tactical restraint is evident in every step.
“Containment corridor C sector accessed,” one of the handlers reports into his comm unit. “Approaching primary holding chamber.”
Static answers intermittently through the channel against the vest. The ventral oversight remains unstable until they reach the threshold.
The door to Containment C-07 is wide open. The leader raises a hand and the team halts. They study the door and it's steel frame.
The breach indicators didn't register a breach. The structural composition wasn't compromise. No forced override signatures are detected along the frame. The locking system remains intact, disengaged without recorded authorization event.
One handler steps inside first with a flashlight in hand, scanning the interior with a handheld diagnostic unit. The device sweeps the chamber in steady arcs.
Empty.
The molded resting platform remains intact and unmoved. Above the resting platform, the neural projection array still active, faint remnants of artificial night-sky flickering weakly across the ceiling. Biometric monitoring interface still cycling through inactive readouts.
No subject presence is detected on the unit. The handler looks at his teammates, a head shake signaling his find.
A second handler follows, verifying the readings twice, then a third time. The results remain unchanged.
Silence stretches in the corridor behind them, broken only by the irregular siren and the slow rotation of emergency lights.
A pause.
Then a report is transmitted upward, voice tightened under restraint protocols:
“Control, this is Retrieval Unit Three. Primary chamber C-07 shows zero occupancy...”
A brief hesitation follows, as if the words themselves require confirmation. One of them presses the button on his comm, then the correction comes, slower, more precise, almost unwilling:
“Sir… Subject C-07 containment is empty. No entity present within the assigned holding cell.”
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The thunderstorm has passed over the town leaving behind lighter showers. The gutters on the buildings are still rushing with water, the awnings over store entrances drip heavily, and mist rises from the hot asphalt. From a glass window of a store named “Overyonder Sweethearts,” a deep caramel hand comes into view, flipping the green ‘Open’ sign to ‘Closed’, and flicking off a switch next to it that shuts off the lights that hang over the front desk.
A woman walks lazily to the window and crosses her arms in front of her chest, blowing air between her lips. Her hazel eyes glimpse at the wet streets beyond the shop's parking lot.
The puddles on the asphalt and curbs ripple softly as they welcome the light raindrops. Vehicles of various colors and sizes roll up and down the wet streets, passing under traffic lights hanging from arched metal poles. The traffic lights seem to glow in the evening gloom within a bustling city.
Her eyes drift upwards. She watches the clouds momentarily separate to give the sun a gasp of breath, gracing all that it touched with an amber glow before it's swallowed again by the storm-dark clouds.
“Even the sun craves connection on the stormiest days,” she murmurs to herself.
A fierce yowl draws her attention away from the outside to the rear side of the shop, long hair whipping around her waist like dark, curly tree vines.
Another yowl, then a hiss.
She huffs and pulls down on a string, dropping pale shades to cover the entire window. Pivoting off the counter, she crosses the aisle of magazines and turns towards where the sound is coming from.
“Oh, no. You two better not be fighting again!” she calls out while walking into an enclosed shelter space.
She immediately spots two kittens in a shared cage pawing at each other—an orange tabby and a white one with an orange birthmark around its right eye. There is an empty blue bowl near the orange tabby and a silver one near the other, which is almost empty. The problem is clear to her.
“Snipper, no…” A white parrot inside a medium-sized metal cage flaps its wings wildly upon seeing her, and she couldn't help tapping the bar as a nonverbal greeting.
Both kittens turn at her voice for a brief second before eyeing each other again. The white kitten's back arches defensively, trying to warn off the other. The smell of kibbles reaches her nose, and the tangible moisture in the air permeates from the fish tank stationed against the adjacent wall.
Nibbles yowls slowly and paws at Snipper in a flurry of cat punches.
The woman sighs knowingly.
The incessant rustling of the newspaper bedding becomes aggressive as she picks a pair of warm protective gloves nearby. Donning them, she turns and crouches before the cage.
“You have eaten your own food. You cannot take Nibbles's food,” she coos, opening the cage until it clicks securely. Reaching inside, Snipper hisses and scurries back a little from her gloved hands, yet her movements remain slow.
“Oh, come on, now… Don't take your anger out on me,” she chuckles, finally picking up the kitten and cradling it in the crook of her elbow. “If you're still hungry, you cannot bully others to take their food.”
Snipper raises his head as if he understood her words. His yellow eyes blink once and look away with a squeaky meow. She knows he is obviously pouting and glances at Nibbles, who is now eating his food like there's no tomorrow. Chuckling, her gaze settles on Snipper again.
“I have to go in a few minutes. I'll give you more, but that will be it, ya hear me?” She raises the kitten close to her face and rubs her nose against it affectionately, earning a low vibration of purrs.
Smiling with content, she takes a finger and gives a soft scratch under the kitten's chin. “Thatta boy.”
ONE HOUR LATER
Familiar white gravel crunches beneath Aureth's boots as she makes her way up the rain-soaked path from her car to her cabin, reusable shopping bags hanging from her arms.
The small home sits nestled among the trees, its amber porch lights already glowing against the approaching evening. Their reflections shimmer across puddles scattered along the winding stone path leading to the front steps. Towering trees encircle the property, their dark silhouettes swaying gently in the damp breeze, while the large oak and its hanging swing stand watch near the edge of the yard.
The scent of wet earth lingers heavily in the air. Rain-darkened stones glisten beneath the soft light as Aureth approaches the porch, and the last of the storm clouds drift overhead. Together, they create a tranquil contrast between the welcoming comfort of home and the cool, mist-veiled forest stretching beyond it.
Before she can reach the porch steps, her phone begins vibrating in her pocket.
Carefully shifting the bags against her hip, she pulls out her phone and answers, placing the call on speaker while searching her pocket for her keys.
"Hey, Aureth. It's Keith," comes an elderly male voice.
"Oh, good evening, Keith."
She retrieves the ring of keys and selects the gold one, sliding it into the lock before pushing the door
She steps inside, scuffing her boots against the straw mat before nudging the door shut behind her. The cabin's open living space welcomes her with familiar comfort. Modern appliances and warm wooden accents blend seamlessly with the rustic stone hearth at the far end of the room, creating the balance between old and new that she has always loved.
"Just checking before I close up. Did you finish cleaning the small animal enclosures and restock the feed aisle?"
"Yes, sir. Everything was completed before I left the pet store." Aureth drops the keys on the edge of the dark marble kitchen island, and sets the grocery bags down one by one.
"Good. Makes my life easier." Keith lets out a brief chuckle. "When can I put you back on the schedule?"
She hums softly, her movements slowing as she glances off to the side in thought.
She has worked for five days in a row, and the prospect of settling in for a nice break sounds amazing.
"In three days," she answers, returning to unpacking the groceries.
Indistinct mumbling drifts through the speaker as though Keith is thinking aloud while looking over the schedule.
"Three days it is. Enjoy your time off. You deserve it."
A soft smile touches her lips. "Thank you. Have a good evening."
"You too, Aureth."
The call ends with three rhythmic beeps. Aureth sets her phone beside her keys on the counter and resumes putting away the groceries, organizing each item into its proper place.
Once everything is stored, she wipes her hands on her jeans and unzips her green jacket. A sense of fulfillment warms her from the inside out as she thinks over how busy she has been. After working all week, she will finally stay in, decompress her mind, and make her favorite comfort foods: a big pot of chicken soup and alkaline smoothies.
She nods at her planned itinerary and pushes off the counter to cross the hearth. Next to the fireplace stand double glass doors that separate the warm interior from the evening chill.
The sliding glass doors open with a light push of her hand, their ergonomic wheels grinding softly overhead. The evening air carries the scent of damp earth and wildflowers as she steps onto the patio and retrieves her gardening gloves from a bird-shaped hook mounted beside the door.
As she heads toward the garden she has spent months tending, she slaps each glove against her palm to dislodge any dust or pests that may have collected inside.
Then her eyes settle on the disturbed rows of crops, some missing and others outright destroyed.
Her steps falter.
"... My crops!”
The shock is nowhere near as loud as Aureth expects it to be. A string of colorful words catches in her throat, each one far too improper for a lady to say aloud.
Instead, the exclamation escapes as a fierce whisper.
Her feet do not move as she stares at the damaged crops.
Her beautiful variety of greens and tomatoes… What animal could have done this?
The distant roll of thunder finally pulls her from her shock. Swallowing hard, she forces herself to assess the damage.
Taking a few hesitant steps forward, she lets her gardening gloves fall forgotten into the grass. Her boots squelch against the damp ground. A sharp breath escapes her chest as she surveys the destruction, her hands lifting halfway in disbelief before dropping helplessly back to her sides.
With a grumpy groan, she bends at the waist and reaches for the tallest tomato plant. One of the stems hangs bare where a ripe tomato had been carelessly torn away.
Then something catches her eye.
A few feet to her left, a shallow puddle has collected in a depression in the soil. At first glance, she mistakes it for an irregular patch of mud.
Then she notices the shape.
It isn't an animal hoofprint as she suspected.
It's a human footprint.
Her gaze darts to another. And another.
No… two, three…
Six.
Six human footprints.
Her eyes widen.
A cold pit opens in her stomach, and her heart seems to drop straight into it.
Her gaze follows the scattered impressions further along the edge of the garden, where the rows of disturbed crops give way to the denser line of overgrown bushes. She cranes her neck, stepping out sideways to get a better look. At first, it is only a darker shape against the wet earth, partially concealed by tangled branches and flattened leaves. She hesitates, narrowing her eyes as the outline resolves into something far too still to be part of the landscape.
A figure is curled on its side beneath the brush.
Motionless.
Her breath catches. For a moment, she does not move, only stares as if waiting for the shape to prove itself otherwise. Then, slowly, carefully, she takes a step forward. And another. Each movement feels heavier than the last as she closes the distance, boots sinking softly into the damp soil.
When she reaches the edge of the garden, the shape resolves fully into a man—real, solid, and unsettlingly still. The realization settles in her chest with a quiet, uneasy weight as she finally understands what she is looking at.
Half-hidden in the damp shadows between soil and foliage, a man lies folded in on himself as though he had simply given out and never moved again. One arm is drawn close to his chest, the other lost beneath him, his body pressed into the cold ground as rain-soaked leaves and grass stick to him.
The sight anchors her in place more firmly than the footprints ever did.
Only three words slip out.
“Oh, my… God.”
Aureth approaches the unconscious man slowly, her concern outweighing the caution tightening inside her chest with every step she takes. The ruined state of her crops tells her enough to understand that he must have been starving, desperate enough to tear through the garden without care, but that realization does little to ease the uneasy churning in her stomach.
Something about him immediately feels wrong in a way she cannot explain, and yet she continues forward anyway, driven by the same stubborn compassion that has always made it difficult for her to turn away from something wounded.
The closer she gets, the clearer he becomes beneath the dirt and dry grass scattered over him. His body is littered with marks that stand out harshly against his skin, some old and faded while others still look raw enough to ache, and the sight unsettles her more than she wants to admit.
Aureth lowers herself carefully, intending only to get a better look at his face, but before she can move within arm’s reach, the muscle of his ear twitches.
The reaction is immediate.
The man jolts awake and scrambles backward with startling speed, the sudden movement forcing a gasp from her throat as he retreats on his hands and knees with stiff, animal-like swiftness. His breathing comes harsh and uneven, chest heaving as though his body has already decided she is dangerous before his mind can process anything else, and the guarded glare he fixes on her sends a pulse of tension through her spine. Yet the thing that truly steals her breath is not his aggression.
It is his eyes.
His pupils are thin, razor-sharp slits that stand starkly against iridescent color so strange and vivid that they remind her of fragments of the night sky itself. For a moment Aureth can only stare, caught between awe and disbelief as realization slowly settles into her chest.
Feline. The thought sends her pulse racing with something unfamiliar and strangely exhilarating, and despite the fear clawing at her instincts, she understands immediately that approaching him recklessly would be a mistake.
He looks at her the way a cornered stray animal would.
“It’s okay,” she says softly after forcing herself to remain calm, slowly opening her hand toward him so he can see that she carries no threat. Her voice remains gentle and even, carefully stripped of fear despite the way her heart pounds against her ribs. “I scared you. Are you… lost?”
He does not answer her. In fact, there is no sign at all that he understands the words leaving her mouth, but his gaze remains fixed on her with sharp, unwavering intensity. Even as she slowly lowers herself onto her knees to appear smaller and less threatening, he continues watching her without blinking, his entire body tense as though he is preparing to bolt at the slightest wrong move.
Then a low snarl vibrates from his chest.
The sound freezes her instantly, and she stops moving before she can provoke him further. His muscles tighten visibly beneath bruised skin as he jerks farther away from her, his posture caught somewhere between aggression and fear, and she notices how violently his breathing shudders afterward as though even that reaction drains what little strength he has left. Up close she can finally see the dried blood smeared over his forearms, the bruised markings around his wrists resembling restraints more than injuries from the wilderness, and the sight twists uneasily inside her chest.
“You’re exhausted,” she murmurs quietly, her expression softening despite herself. “And hurt.”
For the first time, something in her voice seems to reach him. The tension in his brow eases by the slightest fraction, and though he still watches her carefully, his attention flickers toward her open hand with uncertain curiosity instead of outright hostility. As the silence stretches between them, she notices the sharp slits of his pupils slowly beginning to widen, and a strange swell of relief rises unexpectedly inside her at the sight.
A small breath leaves her lips.
“Okay… that’s a start.”
Only then does another realization strike her hard enough to make heat rush into her face. Beneath the dirt, blood, and tangled mess of his condition, the man is completely naked, and embarrassment immediately crawls up her throat for not noticing sooner. She quickly forces the feeling back down before it can show on her face, grounding herself again as she focuses on the far more pressing issue before her.
“There’s no telling how long you’ve been out here,” she says carefully, glancing over the state of him once more. “You shouldn’t be outside like this… You can get sick."
His gaze remains fixed on her hand while the harsh edge of his breathing slowly begins to fade, exhaustion gradually overtaking the adrenaline keeping him alert. The wary tension still lingering in his posture reminds her painfully of frightened strays she has rescued before, animals too abused to trust kindness immediately even when they desperately need it.
Realizing that, she decides to try the next step carefully. Contact.
Slowly and deliberately, she moves her hand toward his, making certain every movement remains unhurried enough not to startle him again. She stops just before touching him, lifting her eyes to gauge his reaction first, and notices the subtle way his body stiffens beneath the anticipation. Still, he does not retreat this time. He only watches her with uncertainty, curiosity, and bone-deep exhaustion swimming together behind those inhuman eyes.
Aureth takes it as permission to continue.
“There… easy,” she whispers softly.
Her fingertips finally brush against the back of his hand where his fingers remain flexed tightly into the soil beneath him, and the contact immediately makes him flinch. Rather than pulling away, she stills completely and leaves her hand where it is, silently showing him that she will not force anything further onto him.
She waits for him to decide whether the touch is acceptable, and after a tense moment passes without him fleeing, something inside her chest twists painfully with sympathy she cannot fully explain.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” she says with quiet sincerity. “You’re safe.”
The change in him happens so suddenly that it catches her off guard. The defensive tension holding his expression together loosens all at once into pure exhaustion, as though her reassurance finally gives his body permission to stop fighting to stay upright. His eyelids begin to lower heavily, his body swaying forward before she fully realizes what is happening.
“Whoa— hey—!”
He collapses against her without warning, the full weight of his body knocking the air from her lungs as a weak grunt leaves him. Instinctively her arms wrap around him before he can hit the ground, one arm bracing around his shoulders while the other catches his head securely against the crook of her elbow. The contact is overwhelming in its suddenness, not because of fear, but because she can feel every tremor wracking through him.
He is trembling everywhere.
The trembling isn't light or subtle at all. They are of a complete physical burnout that shakes through every muscle pressed against her. The realization makes her chest tighten as she struggles to adjust his weight without hurting him further, and despite the cold air surrounding them, the warmth of his skin seeps through her clothes with startling intensity.
“I… I got you,” she whispers quickly, tightening her hold on him.
For a brief moment, everything else fades into the background. The strange eyes, the fear, the confusion, the unusual twitching of his brows— none of it matters as much as the simple fact that he feels painfully, undeniably human in her arms. His skin is clammy with sweat and exhaustion, yet the warmth radiating from him reaches deeper than any blanket she has wrapped around herself during winter nights, and something about that realization settles heavily inside her chest.
Determination slowly hardens her resolve.
“Okay… hang on,” she murmurs softly while brushing strands of dry grass from his dark bangs with careful fingers. “I got you.”
It was a tedious and strenuous task getting him inside the house. It didn't occur to Aureth that this man is genuinely massive until she began dragging him out of the garden… after covering his sacred parts with her jacket first.
Her boots slid through the damp grass with every other step, causing her to use more lower body strength than what she's used to. By the time she got to the foot of the patio, she was panting and her extremities were mildly burning. She took a moment to recollect herself, crouching behind him with a pensive gaze.
“Goodness…” she huffed, “what have you been eating?...”
Of course he cannot answer her. The man continues to tremble slightly and perspiration forms on his brow and neck.
“No matter. I will just have to consider this as my first workout,” she sighs, taking several breaths, willing some strength into her aching muscles for this final haul. “Okay!”
With a loud grunt, Aureth uses her core to stabilize her back, lifting him with more effort. Step by step, she pulls him slowly over the patio step with an exclaimed grunt.
“A-Almost… there!”
Now, her muscles began to ache and tremble, but she continued to drag him, passing the sliding glass doors until they were inside the warmth of the house.
As if her body knew that she'd succeeded, her knees give out and collapse with an exhausted gasp, her legs tucked beneath his back. She catches her weight by quickly bracing herself with one arm on the tile floor, letting his head loll safely onto her thigh while she throws her head back panting for air.
“Hah…! Heh… I… did it,” she pants.
Her entire body thrums from exertion, her biceps and thighs burning from the aftermath.
Then, just as quickly as she starts to catch her breath, her heart begins palpitating. Lightheadedness follows it and the room spins. One hand rests on her forehead and the other presses against her chest, frowning in disdain. Not this again.
Briefly closing her mouth to moisten her throat, she braces herself again and focuses on her own breathing.
She focuses on one thing at a time: the cool tile beneath her palm, the smell of wet earth that clings to the unconscious man in front of her, and soft rustling of the leaves outside.
After a couple of minutes, the sensations subside and the vertigo gradually fades.
Aureth opens her eyes and glances at him then around the space around her. They are nearly inside the hearth, just beyond the kitchen. Her mind wanders on what to do next.
“I need to get you off this darn cold floor… and get you warm… Blankets, towels…” Her fingers absentmindedly tap his shoulder, turning her head back and forth from the hearth to the area beyond the kitchen.
She gets an idea, but it will involve her moving his body once more.
Slowly, she lifts his head from her thigh to move her legs from under him. His wet strands of hair slip between her fingers and stick to her skin like wet blades of grass.
“I know what to do,” she states, lowering his head onto the cool floor. “Give me a little time, I'll be right back.” Without another moment of stalling, she shakily stands up and walks away.
Twenty minutes later, Aureth has turned the hearth into a quiet, warm area for her unexpected guest.
She kneels beside the arrangement of floor cushions she had assembled for him and sets a basin of soapy water beside her knee. A loose curl escapes her ponytail, brushing against her cheek. She absently tucks it behind her ear before folding her hands in her lap.
Her soft gaze settles on him.
He lies unconscious atop the layered cushions, his broad frame partially covered by a thick blanket. Even in sleep, he appears tense, as though his body has forgotten how to truly rest. Small traces of dirt cling to his chapped lips, and Aureth's thoughts drift to her disheveled crops. He must have been truly hungry to pull food straight from the soil.
The fire crackles steadily within the stone fireplace behind her, casting warm amber light across his face and softening the sharper lines of his features. The blanket rises and falls with each slow breath, the steady rhythm reassuring in the quiet cabin.
Aureth places the back of her hand against his cheek before moving it to his shoulder. The lingering chill that had clung to his skin is gone now, replaced by welcome warmth beneath her touch. Relief settles quietly within her chest as one of her greatest worries eases.
Shadows flicker along the walls with every shifting flame, while the rich scent of burning cedar drifts through the cabin, settling into the wood and stone around them.
She thinks back over everything that had led to this moment. One minute he had been crouched in her garden, behaving like a wary, lost animal, and the next he had simply collapsed—falling directly into her arms.
The memory remains startlingly vivid. Aureth bites her bottom lip as she looks down at him, still struggling to make sense of how quickly it had all happened.
Curiosity gets the best of her as she wonders where he came from, slowly reaching to push away his bang from his forehead as if to not wake him up. Steam rises gently from the water’s surface as she dips a cloth into it and wrings it out. Carefully, she brushes the damp fabric across the side of his face.
Dirt lifts away immediately.
"There you are," she murmurs under her breath.
She repeats this with gentleness, swiping away the dirt from the other side. Now it was time to clean his lashes and cheeks, but when it came to his lips, she hesitates. A quiet breath later, she folds a narrow triangle into the cloth and slowly wipes across his lips. The dirt lifts after several rounds and she releases a breath she didn't know she was holding.
The cloth glides over his shoulder and across the broad plane of his chest. As she cleans away the grime, more scars reveal themselves beneath the firelight.
Her hand stills.
Scars.
Far too many.
Thin white lines crisscross his skin like faded lightning strikes. Others are thicker and more pronounced, rough ridges that speak of wounds severe enough to leave permanent reminders behind. Several circle his wrists in uneven bands that make her stomach tighten unpleasantly.
They do not look accidental.
Aureth swallows and continues her work.
The more dirt she removes, the more questions emerge. Whoever this man is, he has endured things no one should.
Her gaze drifts upward as she reaches across his chest with the cloth.
Something metallic catches the firelight.
A chain and dog tag.
She had been so focused on getting him inside that she had barely noticed it before. Setting the cloth aside, Aureth gently lifts the metal tag hanging around his neck.
It is heavier than she expects. It appeared to be something industrial and practical and it contrasts the warmth enveloping them.
The surface bears scratches and signs of wear, but the engraved lettering remains clear beneath the flickering firelight.
EDEN.
Her brows furrow.
Below it sits another line.
Subject ID: CALEB-07
A strange chill creeps through her despite the warmth of the fire.
“Subject?...” Her voice cracks a little.
The word feels wrong. It was a clinical term that gives detachment of humanistic qualities. She understands—maybe—if it said “patient,” but it didn't. It is as though it belongs in a laboratory report rather than on a person's identification tag.
Her eyes linger on the name after that.
Caleb.
Aureth stares at the name longer than she intended. The name feels familiar but distant… Why?
Instead of dwelling on the mystery, she turns the tag over in her fingers, searching for additional information, but finds little else beyond a series of numbers and markings she does not recognize.
Slowly, she lets the metal plate fall back against his chest.
"Caleb," she whispers softly, testing the name.
The unconscious man does not stir. Only the crackling of fire answered the silence. Outside, the wind becomes stronger against the cabin walls.
She wets the cloth once more and carefully works along his forearm, tracing the edge of a particularly vicious scar that resembles lightning. The skin beneath her touch feels unnaturally warm. Several cuts that should still appear fresh already seem to be knitting themselves closed.
The way his body appears to heal unsettles her. It doesn't make any sense. And certainly not the fact that he had appeared in her garden seemingly from nowhere.
Yet as she looks at him now, stretched across the cushions before the firelight, he appears strangely peaceful. Vulnerable, even.
The contrast is almost impossible to reconcile. A man marked by violence should not look this young in sleep. Nor this lost.
Aureth lowers her gaze and continues tending to him in silence. Whatever EDEN is, whatever Subject ID: CALEB-07 truly means, those answers can wait until he wakes.
For now, he is simply an injured stranger lying in her hearth.
And judging by the scars covering his body, it seems no one has shown him much kindness in a very long time.
What will happen when he wakes up? How will Aureth handle it?
♡ I am a writer of dark fantasy, romance, and emotional suspense, & I dabble into a genre called erotica. I am returning from a 10-year hiatus as a fanfiction writer. I am also an artist, however that hobby has been on hold for long time until I get another tablet.
♡ I started playing LOVE AND DEEPSPACE at the beginning of 2026 when Throne of Eros (Vers. 5.0) multi-banner dropped. I have not gone through all the story mode nor wished upon all events and solos because I'm a f2p player.
♡♡ And I must tell you, my heart was captured by a certain Colonel, android, and Netherlord.
——YES, IM A CALEB GIRLIE 🍎🪷! Heyyyy~——
— BECAME APPLEWOLF BECAUSE OF VALKO 🐺💛!—
♡ If you’re here, you’re probably looking for something a little different in LADS works with CALEB—and you’re in the right place.
(Valko comes in the future when he is back as our 6th LI!)
🌿 What to Expect:
✦This blog is dedicated to Copper girl + Fictional men dynamics. I believe us melanin girls deserve to see ourselves centered in romance, fantasy, and desire 🤎.
✦ In all my stories, I LOVE to always give names to my Original Characters/Main Characters. Please, don't misunderstand me... This is just my preference because it makes my work feel authentic to my soul. Everyone's imagination is their very own unique world!
PROTOTYPE EDEN is a sci-fi romance thriller set in a world where perfection is engineered, not born.
Subject C-07, designated Caleb, is a classified prototype bioengineered within a secret underground facility hidden from the public eye. Conditioned through inhuman methods and deployed for confidential assassinations, he has spent his entire life as a weapon built to obey.
Everything changes when a violent thunderstorm cripples the facility's security systems, allowing Caleb to escape into a world he was never prepared to understand. Beyond the walls that defined him, he carries unsettling gaps in his memory and no clear sense of who he is without orders.
His path crosses with Aureth, a compassionate woman who sees something in him that no one else ever has. Rather than treating him as a threat, she speaks to him as though he is already more than what he was created to be.
As Caleb experiences the outside world through her eyes, he is forced to confront a question that has no place within his conditioning: is he merely an escaped weapon, or something becoming human by choice?
All content, original characters, and story is all mine. Other likeliness and similarities content in this story are all coincidental.
Book cover is AI-generated with a human touch of editing.
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□ Tᴀʙʟᴇ ᴏғ Cᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛs □
ᴘʀᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ
Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ Oɴᴇ
🌑 A Note
I put much thought, time, and dedication to my work so I will not be posting too quickly or often because I have a life outside of this. In the future I will have a set schedule for when I post chapter updates when I find a suitable balance.
Please be kind, loving, and respectful to me and everyone else. I have faith that this Fandom is respectful, caring, and mature.
